“Stop it.” All of a sudden, Zeke is next to me, his comforting hand on my shoulder. “She clearly doesn’t want to talk about it, so why don’t you leave her alone?”

Isabelle nudges Julie, who shoots a look at Trevor, who elbows Ethan. They all stare at Zeke’s hand on my shoulder. I can hear the whispers now: “Zeke likes Alice! Are they dating? I thought she loved Bandit! Drama!” Instead of commenting, however, they all back away and face the interactive whiteboard.

My hands shake as I pull out my notes. They have no idea. They think I’m upset because Lalana’s my best friend. They don’t know I’m responsible for her downfall.

For the rest of the day, I call and text my best friend, desperate to find out what her parents said.

Right before seventh period, I hear the ping of an incoming text. I promptly drop my armload of books and grapple for the phone. But the message isn’t from Lalana.

124.274.3567: Alice, this is Mrs. Bunyasarn. Lalana is grounded. Please stop reaching out to her. She will contact you when—and if—she is able.

My stomach sloshes uneasily, although the bushes could tell you there’s nothing left inside. If she is able? What does that mean? She wouldn’t go to California without saying goodbye, right?

My heart sinks to the vicinity of my toes. For the first time since I betrayed her, an unimaginable thought occurs to me.

What if I never see my best friend again?

…

A few hours—and ten thousand years—later, the dismissal bell rings, and I trudge outside. The air is cool, as though winter is digging in its nails for one last hurrah, but the bright sun takes the edge off.

Instead of feeling comforted by the rays, I shiver. How many times have I lifted my face to the sky and let the light caress my skin? In a decade, the sun will no longer be the source of sustenance and life but the origin of sickness and death. The virus will turn our most basic natural resource into a weapon.

And then what? How can the resulting scenario—most of the population dead, the rest stuffed into underground tunnels—be any way to live?

I wrap my arms around myself as my fellow students scurry about, oblivious to the future. As I’d like to be.

They don’t harass me about Lalana. Maybe word’s gotten out that I have nothing to say. More likely, my scowl is unusually effective at warning them off.

Ow.

Electricity. Brain. The Voice.

For once, I don’t even mind the quick zap of lightning. I’m dying for a conversation with my older self.

“Climb the tree,” she says without preamble.

I look at the intersecting branches and leaves of the elm tree above me. The first limb is a foot above my head. Perfect for climbing. “Okay.”